Hermione J Granger Tries Something New
by carpetinflight
Summary: Hogwarts did not turn out to be what Hermione was expecting.


Hermione pulled her feet up on the toilet seat and wrapped her arms around her legs. The room was cold, and her socks were falling down. She sniffled and tore a bit of toilet paper off of the roll beside her, using it to wipe her nose. Hugging her knees tighter to her chest, she rocked back and forth softly. Hogwarts was terrible, awful. It'd been bad from the very beginning. She should've gotten off of that train when she had the chance. And now that horrible boy had managed to make it even worse.

Today in Charms she'd been so happy, so proud to see the feather floating up in the air and to know that _she_ put it there. She, Hermione Granger, doing magic. The book had explained it all quite clearly and precisely, and when she waved her wand, the feather lifted into the air just like it was supposed to.

To go from the warmth of that achievement to the cold shock of Ron's mean, awful comment only minutes later was-- was--

Hermione took in a great gulp of air and went on crying again. The real problem was that she knew he wasn't wrong.

_She must've noticed she's got no friends_, he'd said. And it was true.

Just like at the Muggle school she'd been hoping to escape, she had no real friends. And since the two schools had only one thing in common, that one thing had to be the reason: it was her. Hermione _herself_ was the one thing, the only thing, that could be causing the lack of friends. Nobody liked her.

She began to cry harder, hiccupping for breath. No one wanted her here, no one would care if she left. She would write to her mother the next day, and ask to go home. And then, when she got there, she'd crawl into a hole and curl up and never come out again.

Even through her tears, she laughed a little at herself. That was ridiculous, and she knew it. But she was still going to write to Mum the next day. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had not turned out the way she was expecting.

----------

She was on Summer hols when the letter came, sitting at the kitchen table and swinging her legs as Mum cooked eggs at the stove. Warm, golden sunshine poured in through the large picture windows of the room. Hermione could hear the eggs sizzling in the pan and Mum humming a tune under her breath.

The sound of footsteps traveled down the hall and the kitchen door swung open with a squeak. Hermione smiled up as her father dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

He walked over to the stove and peered into the pan there. Hermione expected him to make a joke, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a loud _whump_. Both of her parents jumped with surprise, and the spatula slipped from Mum's hand and clattered to the floor.

"What in the world was that?"

"Something hit the window. I think it was a bird."

"A bird?"

Hermione jumped up from her seat at the table and ran to the door, while her parents stayed frozen near the stove. "I'll go check," she said unnecessarily, already halfway outside.

When she stepped through the door, she saw a large bird, dazed and wobbly and decidedly out of place on the neatly trimmed lawn. It wasn't just any bird – an owl, which by all rights should have been fast asleep in a tree somewhere. Still, out of place or not, the owl knew its work. It held out one leg, to which was attached a large square envelope.

Hermione looked at the owl, and the owl looked at her. He held out his leg. He crooked his head curiously. He made a soft crooning noise. But she just stood there, mouth open, watching him. Finally, he shook his head as if he was annoyed with her, and he hopped onto her slipper-clad foot. His long talons dug into her toe, and Hermione jumped backwards.

The bird followed her, and then held out his leg again. Finally, as though she had been shocked into action by the pain in her foot, Hermione bent down and took the envelope from him.

----------

Hermione pulled the strangely thick paper from its envelope and began to read aloud.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enlosed a list of all necessary books and equipment…._

She trailed off, looking up at her parents.

"What does this mean?" Mum asked. "Is this a joke?"

"All necessary books and equipment," Hermione repeated slowly.

"Let me see the letter," Dad said, pulling it out of her hands. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read aloud with a chuckle.

_School of witchcraft…_ Hermione thought. _Well, of course._

Her parents were talking in the background, but all Hermione could think about was the time she'd upset a glass of milk all over her homework. Appalled, she'd looked down at the sodden pages, ink running amok in crazy swirls – when suddenly, the milk had reversed its course, pulled together, swept back into the glass, and tipped it upright, all on its own. Or so she'd thought. Maybe it had been witchcraft… magic.

A sharp rap sounded at the front door, and her parents went to answer it. Hermione followed along behind them, still thinking.

"Magic," she whispered.

"Good morning," the woman at the door said crisply. She was wearing a funny, old-fashioned dress of green velvet. "The Doctors Granger, I presume?" Hermione's parents nodded mutely. "My name is Minerva McGonagall."

Dad looked down at the letter he was still holding. "Deputy Headmistress McGonagall?" he asked faintly.

"Yes, indeed," she said. "And is this young Hermione?"

----------

"…and I believe that covers it," Professor McGonagall concluded. "Do you have any questions for me?"

Hermione's parents just gaped at her.

"There's just so much," Mum said.

"I rather thought there might be." Professor McGonagall smiled briefly. "I brought along a few books that you might find useful." From her tartan handbag, she pulled out three large, hardbound volumes.

"You can reach me at this address," she said, handing Mum a slip of paper.

Her parents rose to see the Professor out, but Hermione was already reaching for the little stack she'd left behind. The top one said _Hogwarts, a History_. That seemed like a good place to start.

----------

She made her way down the hall of the train, looking through the glass windows into each compartment. She had arrived early, eager to get settled before everyone else arrived, but the compartments were already full of laughing, joking students, all of whom seemed older, taller, and much more confident than she'd ever be.

Finally, she found an empty compartment. Out of the window, she could see her parents standing on the station platform, very close to each other amidst a sea of frantic movement. They looked very small there, all alone.

Hermione thought of the two of them by themselves in their big house, with no other children, or pets, or anyone to take care of. She thought of the special Saturday breakfasts Mum made, and the feel of her dad's big hand ruffling her curly hair. Perhaps she ought to get off the train and go to them, just to make sure they were going to be all right. Yes, that was a good idea, she'd just—

----------

A loud whistle blew and the train shuddered. Hermione watched out the window as the station platform, with her parents in the back corner, seemed to slip away, slowly at first and then faster and faster.

She sat back against the soft plush seat and bit her lip. Her eyes stung a little, and there was a pain in her nose that meant she was about to cry. She blinked very fast, and looked up at the ceiling, listening to the chugging rhythm of the train and trying to hold back the tears.

Had she just made a horrible mistake? She looked at the empty compartment and at her own things, piled neatly in one corner to leave room for the other occupants who had never come.

She had hoped to escape her other life, her other school, but this was going to be just the same. She thought of the school library, of the study table in the corner where she'd arranged her things so neatly that they took up exactly one-quarter of the space, even though nobody else ever sat there with her. She thought of the pitying looks of the librarian.

Hogwarts was supposed to be different, she thought. A terrible idea was creeping into her brain, that despite the magic and the owls and the fancy train, things weren't going to be different at all. She pushed that idea away, and blinked back the tears, but she didn't actually feel any better.

She turned away from the window, and jumped slightly. There was a chubby boy standing in the doorway, looking somewhat forlorn. In his hand, he held a large brown toad.

"Is this – can I sit here?" he asked nervously.

"Of course," she answered, surprised at even being asked. Not _everyone_ was more confident than her, apparently.

With a great sigh, the boy entered the compartment, carrying his toad and a large knapsack.

"I'm Neville," he said, setting down his things. "Neville Longbottom. And this is – oh, drat, he's missing again."

"The toad?"

"I'm always losing him," Neville said with another great sigh.

"Toads are very powerful magical creatures, you know."

Neville nodded, his cheeks a faint pink. "That's what my Gran says."

"We'll find him," Hermione said, more confidently than she felt.

----------

"Switching spells," said Professor McGonagall, "Will be a new experience for you. These spells involve different types of magical transference than the basic transfigurations we've done thus far. Can anyone tell me why?"

Hermione looked up from her notes and raised her hand quickly. This was an easy question, covered in great detail in _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_. Surprisingly, she was the only one with her hand up.

Professor McGonagall's eyes twinkled just a little, and the corners of her lips twitched slightly as she turned to Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" she asked.

"Switching spells are not merely regular transfigurations," Hermione said, quoting from the assigned reading. "Instead of changing the properties of one object, the spellcaster must transfer the properties of two objects from one to the other."

"Very good, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall smiled briefly, reminding Hermione of their first meeting. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

A warm feeling swept through Hermione. She sat up straighter, took a deep breath, and allowed herself the luxury of drawing a small, precise star on her notes, next to the heading "switching spells."

----------

Just as Hermione made up her mind that she was going to write to her mother and ask to come home, a rumbling sound interrupted her porcelain solitude. She looked up, startled. The sounds resolved into something clearer -- grunting, and what sounded like the shuffling of very large feet.

She stood up from her perch on top of the toilet and walked to the center of the bathroom to see what was happening. A moment later, a huge figure appeared -- it had lumpy gray skin, and a big club which dragged on the ground.

Hermione froze in place, unable to even think about moving. Then, behind the troll a bit of movement caught her eye. The door to the loo swung quickly shut with an echoing crash. A clicking followed it -- the key turning in the lock. She was trapped in the bathroom, alone with the troll and his club.

She shrank back against the wall and screamed for all she was worth. She screamed and screamed and the huge figure advanced and lifted its club and -- miraculously, the door swung open.

Ron and Harry might have been the two most horrible boys in Hogwarts at that moment, but she'd never seen anything more beautiful than the sight of them racing through the door at that moment.

Everything seemed to happen horribly fast, then. Harry screamed, and Ron threw something, and then Harry leaped into the air at the troll and Ron waved his wand, and the troll fell over with a resounding crash that somehow restored her ability to move. She stood up on shaky legs and asked slowly, "Is it -- dead?"

"I don't think so," said Harry, but before they could do anything else, Professor McGonagall was there, coldly furious.

Hermione took a deep breath. It didn't matter -- she was going to be leaving Hogwarts for good soon, anyway. And she shouldn't let Harry and Ron get into trouble for saving her life.

As if someone else were speaking very far away, she heard her own voice explaining to Professor McGonagall how the whole thing was her fault.

The boys looked shocked, Professor Snape looked suspicious, the troll just lay there, but Professor McGonagall sent her on her way. She didn't even know if she'd helped them at all.

When she met up with Harry and Ron in the Common Room later, all they said was "thanks," but she could tell that something was different. It was almost as if they were friends. Of course, it didn't matter, since Hermione was leaving anyway.

What with one thing and another, though, she never did get around to sending that letter to her mother.


End file.
